


the devil made me do it

by theredhoodie



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Angst, Dark!Kate, Post-Season/Series 02, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhoodie/pseuds/theredhoodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shouldn’t be letting her do this. His face was bloody, his glasses broken and hanging off his ear.</p>
<p>“Why aren’t you fighting back?” she hissed through clenched teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the devil made me do it

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of an idea I had about dark!Kate a few weeks ago. Basically I had this picture in my head of Kate wanting to kill both of the Geckos, but especially Richie, but being unable to because of the way their power is connected. I'm not gonna explain more of it here because you can easily find a lot of fandom ideas about it on tumblr.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this anyway!

He shouldn’t be letting her do this. His face was bloody, his glasses broken and hanging off his ear.

“Why aren’t you fighting back?” she hissed through clenched teeth. The power pouring through her veins was unlike anything she had ever experienced; there were no words to describe how ancient the blood was that flowed through her body, keeping her alive, fueled on by her rage and desperation.

He didn’t say a thing, only stared at her through blood-caked eyelashes, arms hanging by his sides. She was holding him up with her hands fisted in his shirt, holding him higher than her petite form and thin arms would normally allow. They both knew how it was happening now.

“You son of a bitch,” she said, shoving him hard. His back made a popping crack against the concrete and a cough erupted with flecks of blood from his lips.

She stepped back, wiping the back of her wrist across her forehead. Her fingers were shaking uncontrollably. When she clenched them, her whole arm would shake. So she let them shake as she stood, head tilted back, eyes closed, her back to the beaten man beneath her.

“Kill me,” he said, but he didn’t mean it. “I know you want to, Kate. I’m the reason your brother is a monster. I’m the reason that you’re…this. Take it out on me.”

She bit her tongue until she tasted blood. The burst of it across her tastebuds didn’t make her feel more alive; it made her feel even less human than she did most of the time. She missed remembering what it was like to be well. She missed being angry at her father, she missed the smell of her mother’s hair after a shower, she missed enjoying the sun against her skin; now she just felt…empty. A hollowed-out shell.

_There’s no more love left_.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she asked, twisting around on a heel and looking at him. He was propped up on an elbow, smearing the blood across his face, staining his white shirt, his glasses tossed aside, shattered and useless. “If I kill you, you don’t have to go around feeling sorry for yourself anymore. You don’t have to _feel_ how you pushed Seth away, you don’t have to _feel_ how you got fucked over by Santanico, you don’t have to _feel_ and remember what you did to me and my family.”

Her hands shook at her sides but there was no mistaking the steady hatred in her crisp green eyes. They were bloodshot; she was tired, and yet she couldn’t stop. The emptiness inside that was driving her onward fed on hatred and rage and guilt and blood and it wouldn’t let her stop.

He stayed where he was, squinting up at her, his vision clouded with red. If he was religious, she looked like the embodiment of Lilith, the tossed aside Eve, tangled in webs of envy and greed. And yet she had _that_ face. He couldn’t bring himself to fight her.

“Just get on with it.” He threw himself back at her mercy. He wasn’t begging at her feet, he was tired and ready to just close his eyes and accept the darkness even just for a little while.

The unyielding gnawing hunger dragged her feet forward, planting them on either side of his hips. Her hands stopped shaking when she grabbed his shirt and lifted him off of the ground, bringing their faces close.

His eyes were blue like ice, and all of the warmth was gone from hers. There wasn’t a single hint of the smiling faces in the sun at the Dew Drop Inn, puffs of cigarette smoke circling around their heads like halos, quick flicking tongues flirting, and danger sparking around the edges. There was none of that. Nothing in their lives had been or ever would be the same as they had been in that very moment.

She wanted him to pay for the years without her father. She wanted him to pay for the innocence of her brother forever lost. She would have taken a dysfunctional family over one entirely gone.

“Richard,” she said, her voice small and deadly. She had a dagger in her jeans, enough strength to kill him with that and her own soft hands. She gripped his shirt tighter, her nails cutting into her own palms through the fabric. She could feel the shakes quivering up her forearms.

“There’s no more love left,” he echoed her words before her own death. They tasted sour and wrong in his mouth. Had he ever had any love to give? Or had he just tied it neatly in a bow and shoved it into the recesses of his mind, lost in the nervous system, never to be seen again?

Her lips thinned into a sad smirk and she let go with one hand, returning with a crudely made dagger of black stone. His eyes flickered to it and his body relaxed. She could continue to take out her grief on him. He wasn’t going to stop her.

She breathed shakily out of her mouth as she dug the tip under his chin, forcing his head back. He still gazed at her through crimson. Her hand around the knife didn’t shake. There was the sting of cool air hitting the small cut the tip made, but she didn’t move any farther.

She wanted him to pay. He would not be the first life she took. She could torture him for days, letting the ancient power feed off of her emotions. Or she could end his misery quickly. That’s what the old Kate would do. That’s how her father met his end, after all.

“I…” She bit down on her tongue again and her vision blurred, not with bloodlust, but with salt and bitterness. She pictured herself plunging the knife into his flesh, slashing his throat, pulling his head back with her hands until he was beyond the point of return and turned into a pile of ash and fire.

“I can’t,” she choked out, tossing aside the blade with such force that it stood up in the concrete, and shoved him again. She stumbled back, clamping a shaking hand over her mouth, feeling sick and twisted inside: disgust.

She hadn’t felt a genuine emotion in months. It startled her and she let out a sob that was followed by a strangled laugh. Her eyes watered and tears streamed down her face.

She didn’t know if she was disgusted at herself, at Richard, or at the power within her. She wrapped herself around the humanity of the emotion and wiped her face, smearing blood and tears into a watery pink mixture.

Sniffing, she pried the knife out of the ground and looked down at him. It wasn’t often he looked up at anyone, and definitely not the tiny preacher’s daughter from Bethel, Texas. The confusion in his eyes was understandable; she knew he hated not knowing the outcome of a situation, not knowing why emotions were being dished out. Hell, he didn’t understand emotions in general.

“There’s no more love left to give, Richard,” she said, her voice soft and small. “Killing you would show that I love you too much.”

He knew she didn’t mean love in the way people meant love.

He sat himself up as she walked away, hair caught in the wind, hands shaking at her sides. If he lay there long enough, a car may come and run him over. It wouldn’t kill him; it would just hurt. He dragged himself over to the curb and collapsed, gangly limbs, hair in his eyes, blood everywhere. Tossed aside like a used condom in a shitty hotel room after a loud, messy fuck soon to be forgotten.

He smirked into the blurry darkness around him and felt around his jacket for a cigarette.


End file.
